Creative Act #3: The Television Tree


Creative Act #3: The Television Tree

I was very tempted to delve into a writing medium I was not personally experienced with for this creative act, such as a screenplay or perhaps a one-act, however I decided to venture beyond my usual paper boundaries and try something new. I decided upon sculpture. This photo is of a number of televisions stacked, with a Nintendo video game console and a modem at the top. Placed in the foreground of a tall tree with very natural growth (which was not able to be captured entirely in the photograph), the television tree as I call it, represents society’s shift from a focus on the natural and the beauty of the world, towards viewing everything through the dulling screen of technology. On the ground in front of the television tree, are a number of electrical cords which are a parody of roots. There is a good example of life beyond the screen in the right background, where a large, beautifully green-leafed tree is visible.


Creative Act #2: The Pillars

The hills stood tall amongst the clouds; smooth blades of grass, drawn against the coursing winds of the sky like soft pelt. Countless in number, they covered the seas with their rolling, rounded slopes, brilliant emerald skin stretching to the lapping tides. The great waterways between these giants interlaced and twined, into a scarce navigable maze, home to pale, bared bones of pine. Many the victim of time, hunger & thirst. Others prey to their fellow traveller. The steeps barren but for their mask of nature, shadowed channels long-since drained of life. These the pillars of no-man.

To those who found their way through the labyrinth, the other side harbored nothing but bare sheets of sand – buffered from the pillars by a stretch of silent ocean. The great desert, pulsing with veins of lava buried just beneath the soft, sinking dunes, was curled seamlessly across the land. Edge sinking into foaming surf. Cactus and thorn-scrub sprouted inconsistently from thinner pools of the sun’s grain, their roots lingering deep in the moisture and nutrient of soil below. Little help to wandering souls, pushing through the wind-swept plains that cut skin afresh, with tiny blades picked off the threshing floor. None knew what lay beyond, for it took a lifetime to traverse. Yet still they came, the sailors and survivors, pushing themselves on – further and further – towards the end of the world.

The landscape of a fictional-world, imagined above, came to me with a combination of Moroccan kif incense and staring at my ceiling.

Creative Act #1: Space ambitions shrink in scale

Space ambitions shrink in scale

When those who were meant to, dream not.

Innumerable stars will never be caught by their glint,

Or betray a clarity against coal backdrops.

Against the featureless, black-hole of squishing,

Malleable imagining.

Connections are drawn like dots:

From one, to the other.

To those who cast their line,

In the overwhelming tide,

And live well in the knowledge of creation.

While others still, with a stencil, will.

Following a claimed fate,

Bold and harsh, in shades.

Drawn since time immemorial.

Their straight-jackets pulled taught,

On those who refuse to be understood,

By those who refuse to understand.

The cavity of your mind, is not tooled or set.

We sub-conscious roam, don’t you know?




For the other.

In that time that seems sweet – sleep,

They play.

Dreaming that which is naught,

But a cerebral-day.

Dreams too life-like, to be anything but.

Faces, people and places,

Moving from one pond to the other.

Dipping toes in luke-warm water.

They’re the actors of each dreamer’s play.

The mares and the caricatures,

Beautiful in their own vague way.

– – –

This poem, which begins with a headline from the BBC News, deals with the concept of connected-dreams and of those who do not know how to dream. I had no plan for the poem when it began, instead allowing the writing to bring me to a realization through a natural process of creation and contemplation. The poem began with a single line, “Space ambitions shrink in scale”, the headline from an article I did not read; I did not want the actual material of the piece to affect the course of the poem. Instead, I allowed subjectivity and individual interpretation reign. What the headline could have meant, or rather what it meant to me, soon revealed itself in the free-verse form. After completing the poem, I read the news piece in question. I noted the general unlikeness between the realism involved in the cut-backs on space-travel research, and my poem about refusing mental-boundaries and allowing yourself any and all exploration of the human mind, or space. This combination of a rigid, scientific-news piece and unstructured poetry, led to the creation of a personal theory: our dreams are inhabited by other dreamers.

Cooper, Quentin. “Space Ambitions Shrink in Scale.” BBC, 10 Sept. 2012. Web. <;.